The conflict at the heart of the migrant question

A friend, a Cambridge professor, passing my old college last week, was startled to encounter a young lady standing outside shouting something and carrying a placard exhorting Mathew [sic] Parris to [expletive deleted] off. He wondered if I knew what this was all about. I don’t, but suppose it relates to my Times column arguing (about asylum seekers) that we do not have an equal obligation to all, but rather concentric circles of obligation at the centre of which we stand, the first circle being to self and family, the next to close friends, neighbours and community, then to nation and, finally, to all mankind.

The conclusion to this argument (I said) is that our duty (for example) to accept and care for asylum seekers or indeed economic migrants is not negligible but must stand in line behind other duties. Charity begins (though most emphatically it does not end) at home. I know the young lady’s indignation was shared by many because friends told me ‘You’ve caused a Twitter storm’, with all the comments being angry, even abusive. Social media is a planet I’m not on, but I’m curious. Who are these people? What are the inner thoughts, the emotional processes, that lead to this rage against a person they do not know?

In trying to answer these questions I was put in mind of my late parents, their marital relationship and their relationship with their (six) children. The connection with the woman outside my college may not at first be obvious to you, but I think you will see.

All 58 years of marriage, Dad was always the parent who said no. He worked all his life for us, never wanted much for himself, and maintained always a civil and steady demeanour, but he was not overtly loving. Mum was the demonstrative one, tirelessly kind, a cuddler and consoler, a sort of angel.